by Franc Ingram
The yetis were first to follow, their howls echoing off the rocks, their fangs dripping with saliva. Lorn managed to get his feet under him, half-running, half-sliding down the hill. He snatched the empty quiver off his back and flung it at the nearest beast before continuing his controlled fall downward. Patches of the ground were slick with half melted ice, making the ride down all the more erratic and uncomfortable.
Lorn lost his balance, his hand coming down hard on a jutting rock. One of the yetis behind him careened into him, causing them both to go rolling. At the nearest plateau, Lorn landed on the yeti with a loud thud, knocking the air out of him. He pulled his sword to defend himself, but the yeti knocked it free of his hand.
Lorn dove for the sword as sharp claws wrapped around his ankle and pulled. Lorn used his long body to his advantage, catching the hilt of the sword with the tips of his fingers and dragging it to him as he was dragged toward the yeti.
Kicking blindly, Lorn managed to connect with something covered in fur, and the hard grip loosened enough for him to pull his foot free. Lorn flipped over so he could sit up and get his feet under him, but the rest of the gang had caught up. The Master of Skies found himself in the middle of an angry circle.
"You must be a fool," the second yeti growled, helping his brother to its feet.
Lorn spun to look at it. "The beast speaks," he mumbled to himself, "and it spouts weak insults."
He'd only encountered the new breed of talking yeti once, during the battle for Caledonia and it was just as disturbing the second time as it was then. It felt unnatural to hear the creature speak through such a bestial mouth.
Looking at it, Lorn searched for any distinguishing marks that would identify this new breed of yeti from its primal predecessors, but he could detect no physical difference. It moved the same way and was built with the same muscular form. Nothing bounced back from its blue on blue eyes to say it was a rational, thinking creature unlike its instinct driven relatives. That's what scared Lorn the most. Cornelius managed to combine his intelligence and the yeti's brute strength, making them twice as deadly.
"I've been called worse," Lorn finally replied. "I admit this wasn't my best plan." He looked over the faces surrounding him. Six men, four women, and all of them scowling at him like he was some plague-riddled monstrosity. Each one held a sharp blade in their hand.
Lorn had his sword, but the tumble down the hill hadn't done him any favors. The rock opened his wounds the trees had inflicted. He was bleeding through his makeshift bandages, and he could feel blood pooling into his sock were the yeti's claws had torn at his ankle.
He tried thinking of what his mother would say. What brilliant piece of advice she would impart that would show him the way out, but nothing came. He didn't think even the great and powerful Guardian would be able to talk her way out of it, although she never would have walked into it to start with.
Lorn's heart raced, his hands shook, and his mind scrambled for answers. He couldn't die on the mountain alone after abandoning his brothers and failing to rescue his mother. There had to be something that could save him. Anything.
Lorn fought hard against a bout of nervous giggles that tickled the back of his throat. "I couldn't talk you into accepting my surrender, could I?" Lorn said, forcing a smile.
"We happily accept," the yeti said.
Eight of the Failsea warriors moved in at him at once, kicking and punching. Lorn put his arms up to protect his face, but that left his ribs open to attack. He fell to his knees under the onslaught. He took a couple of wild swings and heard someone yelp, but then his sword was wrested from his hand and he got a face full of someone's fist for his troubles.
Lorn doubled over, his nose bleeding and his ribs burning. His head swam, and he couldn't suck in a full breath before another kick landed, knocking him flat. Someone stomped on his arm and Lorn screamed in agony. Then he took a knee to the face and the lights went out.
01100111
Awareness came back to Lorn slowly, and behind it blinding pain that burned through him unrelentingly. It was everywhere. No part of him was spared from the agony. The cold hard surface he laid on did nothing to ease his discomfort. Lorn was pretty sure he was laying on a rock, judging by the rough feel of it against his hands. He didn't dare open his eyes to look.
His eyelids felt like they were glued to his eyeballs. Every breath he took sent a new wave of agony through him, to the point Lorn begged for sleep to take him back into its depths.
He felt the tears come unbidden to his eyes, sliding across his face to the ground. Nausea's bitter bite gathered at the edge of his tongue. Lorn rolled onto his side with a groan, letting spit and bile ooze out of his mouth. His body didn't even have the strength to vomit properly.
Part of him wondered if a quick death wouldn't have been better. He had another life left, he would have come back. Maybe by then the others would have forgiven his betrayal and subsequent failure. But the optimistic part of his mind - the part that talked him into starting off after Oleana in the first place - wouldn't let him give up. He'd made it to the very place he'd been searching for. The fact that he was an injured prisoner was just a minor inconvenience.
Lorn cleared his mouth and wiped it against his sleeve. With that small movement came the stirring of an idea, a way he could free himself, besides death. Lorn turned inward, reaching deep inside his mind to that part of him that was computer enhanced. He reached for the cluster of smart particles inside his brain that allowed him to control the weather and connect with his fellow Heirs.
It stored the memories of the time the four Heirs of Eternity melded, sharing all their collective intelligence. Generally, those memories were dormant, not accessible all the time for fear that it would overwhelm his fragile biological system. These were extraordinary times, and he needed the information.
His mother had healed Leith using her own stored energy. As a result, she lost one of her lives. Leith was near death at the time, and had needed all that Oleana could give to save him. Lorn didn't need something so drastic. All he needed was enough to get him going. Surely that wouldn't cost him a lifetime's worth of energy.
The technique Oleana used came flooding into Lorn's mind. His version would be less complicated since there was no need to transfer the energy to another host. All he had to do was break down the barriers keeping his own regeneration energy in reserve and let his body absorb enough of it to help heal him.
Lorn's Heir ability wasn't about manipulating human bio signals, as Oleana's was, so the coding he needed felt foreign to him. As Oleana once temporarily adopted his immunity to lightning, he had enough knowledge to, however awkwardly, copy her abilities.
The process took forever. While he had the tools, using them with any precision took patience. Lorn had to figure out how to read the road map his mother left in his head. He had to learn how to see the millions of smart particles swimming around the nerve endings in his brain. The focus it required helped him shut out the agony raging in his body, banging away at his subconscious, demanding to be let in.
Lorn learned the language the smart particles spoke, which felt like a foreign tongue, each command coming out with painful slowness. Lorn knew one wrong syllable could do him irreparable damage. First, he had to line the particles up, waking up ones that had laid dormant throughout most of his life, only activating when he was on the cusp of death, and capturing all the knowledge they could to store up for his resurrection.
He pushed a little too hard and his mind flooded with memories of past lifetimes, too fast for him to absorb. They left him with the weight of experience on his chest, nothing he could use or make sense of. Just vague feelings and new fears of things that must have hurt him, but he had no idea when.
After the information explosion faded, Lorn tried again to open the neural pathways that lead to things like cell growth and pain management. Then he coaxed the particles into action again, this time only a few at a time. The energy transfer was a trickle instead of a
flood.
With his attention so focused on controlling the process, Lorn didn't notice the physical changes in his body at first. He got the signals to his brain, but they were easily pushed aside as he shut that part of himself off. But as his body flooded with energy and his cells began to turn over at an accelerated rate, Lorn couldn't shut the new pathways down.
The pain burned through every fiber of him as blood rushed oxygen through his body to feed millions of new cells that were repairing muscle and bone faster than the signals could travel back to his brain. His heart pumped faster with each second. His lungs struggled to take in enough air to feed his rapidly changing body. Lorn had to pull away from the conversation with the smart particles, shutting the energy release off before he was overwhelmed.
All he could do was lay there in the fetal position as his body warred about whether to tear itself apart, or heal. A moan escaped his mouth, so filled with agony it sounded inhuman to his throbbing ears. Lorn focused his mind on his mother's face. All of it would be worth it once he got to see her smile again.
CHAPTER EIGHT: REFUGEES
Helpers from Evermore caught up with the Caledon refugees earlier that morning, cutting the day's arduous trek in half. Navigating the marsh with such an unwieldy group took careful directing and constant focus. When Leith finally caught sight of the open gates of Evermore, Daycia standing there with the sun on her back, hair blowing in the wind, he almost collapsed. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd eaten, or even taken a break to pee. All he could remember was the endless walking, and the continuous fear of being chased.
All he could think about was how many people he'd helped off the ground after they stumbled, even though he felt unsteady himself. Where did he get the spare energy to help someone else? Yet they kept moving forward, together.
Leith kept his eye on Lysander, who had insisted on helping carry his father's stretcher the entire way. Wade, Paul, and Henry switched off carrying the back end, but Lysander wouldn't relinquish his position for anything. The younger man had to have been on the verge of collapse, but his shoulders were tight and his grip firm on the wooden handles.
When Daycia spotted him, she rushed forward. Her eyes met Leith's and he knew that he could finally relax. She would take over. They had made it home.
Leith never thought he could call any place but Solon home, but the caring look in Daycia's eyes, the collective feeling of arrival that swept through the people around him, convinced Leith otherwise.
"Is he still alive?" Daycia asked. She rested her hand on Lysander's shoulder, stopping his mindless march forward.
"Breathing. Other than that, I don't know," Lysander wheezed. His throat was dry and his mind numb. He swallowed hard, but refused to look up at Daycia. Shame and fear pressed against Lysander's heart making it hard for him to breathe.
"Well, we have him now," Daycia said. With a wave of her hand she motioned two men forward.
Leith didn't recognize their faces, but knew their type. Simple clothing, scruff on their faces, calloused hands. These were the hardworking men of Evermore that did whatever they could to keep the isolated city running.
Daycia held Lysander still as the men took his place. "To Kameke on the double," she ordered. They scurried away with solemn looks on their faces. It didn't take a doctor to know Nadir was on his way out.
That left Lysander and Leith to huddle next to Daycia as if she were a fire and they were freezing. Others swelled around them, moving into Evermore, into safety. Leith had a thousand things to say, but no energy to form the words.
Paley came up, leading a group of injured soldiers. Daycia grabbed her and hugged her. Once they let go of each other Daycia finally spoke.
"How bad?"
"Twenty dead. Injured be double." Leith said flatly. "Hundreds displaced. Caledonia messed up bad. We be more so." He rattled off the facts, detached from them. He couldn't believe such horrible things had happened to him.
"Where's Lorn?" she asked.
The name was like a slap to the face. Leith didn't know whether to be mad at the boy or mad at himself for not taking the same bold course. Lysander turned away from Daycia as if the question were too much for him to face.
"Where is he?" Daycia demanded in the that kind but firm way only she could manage.
"After Oleana," Leith managed. "Sent squad running after 'em. Be three days gone. No word. Still be feeling 'em."
Daycia shook her head. "All we can do is hope and pray they all come back. I should've known he couldn't resist the chance to go after her, should have insisted he stay here like my instincts told me."
"No keeping 'em from it," Leith said. "He would'a gone no matter."
"When things get settled we can send a whole platoon after that foolish boy." Daycia put her arm around Leith's shoulders, and then Lysander's. "Enough talk of this, we need to get you two inside and get you both some food and rest."
She urged them forward, and Leith followed her mindlessly. They blended in with the rest of the tired masses spilling into the south gate of Evermore's living wall. The city opened in front of them, sprawled out in its perfect grid pattern. It was such a small city. Leith could almost see the northern edge from the south gate.
No more than three hundred people called the city home and they were filling it with at least that many refugees. The place was already struggling under the weight of the soldiers flooding in from different realms, along with politicians and their advisers all taking up space in the Crystal Tower.
For the first time since coming to Evermore, Leith felt crowded. The smell and noise of people and animals pressed in on him from every side. His calm, secluded refuge had become a chaotic, messy waystation for the lost and broken. Leith didn't like it, couldn't stand for it.
As they walked the dirt road toward The Tower, made rough by too many feet treading on it, he longed to be in his room, curled up in his bed. As a line of men gathered several yards ahead of him, Leith knew there would be trouble. The concerned looks on the natives' faces made the hairs on the back of Leith's neck stand up.
Daycia must have noticed it too, for she stopped. She dropped her hands to her side and waited. One of the men stepped forward. He was tall and brawny. He had old battle scars along his face, and the ash of the forge on his clothing.
Leith recognized him as Alonzo, the leader of Evermore's Peacekeepers. They were the city's unofficial police force, a group of twenty men that made regular patrols throughout the city and kept things in order. They were the ones that guarded the stage at the coronation. They also helped some of the newcomers, who weren't staying in The Tower find homes. Alonzo was a good man who cared deeply for his city.
"What is this?" he asked, sweeping his meaty hand over the growing crowd.
"We let you know about incoming refugees," Daycia said.
"Not this many. Not like this. How do we take care of all of them?"
"We'll figure it all out. It won't be dumped on your shoulders."
"It was bad enough when you Heirs came with all that followed," Alonzo said, stepping closer. "We expected them. Kameke reminded us that this city was for y’all. Then the yetis attacked and the wall went up. More and more people came with no sign of leaving." He pointed back to the men around him. "We work hard for this city and you've strained our resources already. Now this. So many people without consultation or consideration for the people already here. We can't stand for it."
"Nowhere else for 'em," Leith said, not able to hold his tongue any more. "Be needing safety as you once." Alonzo self-consciously brushed the scars on his face. "You denying 'em it?"
"When it hurts those already here I do. You ask too much of us, of our city. You're the Kings of Euphoria, the Kings of Peace, yet you have brought us nothing but pain and fear." The men around Alonzo nodded, adding their support. "They can't stay here. It's too much."
Lysander stirred, drawing Leith's attention since he had forgotten the younger man was there. "I'm sick of people telling m
e what I have to do," Lysander yelled. "I'm the king. We're kings," he pointed at Leith. "As you said, this is our city, we'll bring who we want into it. You don't like it, leave. I'm done listening to this. I need to say goodbye to my father." Lysander stomped off before anyone could get another word in.
"This isn't over," Alonzo said before turning to leave as well.
Leith looked at Daycia. "Battle followed us."
"And this is just the start."
01110011
Leith reached for the door handle to his room when he heard someone coming toward him at a run. He laid his hand on his dagger grip, shoulder muscles tensed and ready for a fight before he turned to see who it was. Wade, one of the Rangers from Arismas, skidded to a stop in front of Leith.
"Sire, The Court wants a meeting."
The Court was a group of nine advisers from the three loyal realms, put in place to help the Heirs govern their newly united territory. Leith appreciated the advice and support of the more experienced men and women, but he was in no mood for their bickering.
"'Morrow. I be tired 'n hungry," Leith said waving the Ranger away.
Wade looked down at his feet. "Sorry but they're already gathering in the Grand Room."
Leith exhaled sharply. He smelled of week old cabbage that had been in the sun too long. His body was sore and exhausted, and standing there had his fatigued muscles shaking. Lysander's blood was still caked on his sleeve.
He thought about sending a message back, telling The Court off, but they would just send more messengers. Or worse yet, they would make a decision without him and waste even more time trying to convince the Heirs to implement it. Either way, the best thing would be to go hear them out then get back to bed as soon as possible.